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It's been a few weeks since her tryst with the kimeti buck who had smelled of fresh open skies and sunshine. She'd slipped away from the little clan comprised of her mother, brother, and her nephew. It had only been for a little while, or at least - it had been intended as such.

But then she'd run into him, and an afternoon had turned into an evening.

Now, though her belly is still not too rounded, she knows she is in the midst of the kind of change her own mother had gone through, and many mothers before either of them. She finds she has new instincts - to nest, to gather materials, to protect the small lives growing within her.

Which, perhaps, is why she finds herself traveling down the same path her mother once had, while pregnant with her and her siblings. She recalls the story well of the two mares who had visited Trouble during the time of her own need. Perhaps she may find similar luck.

Her footsteps are precise and careful as she makes her way in the dark (it is easier for her to see, without the glare of the sun against her small, sensitive, skin-covered eyes) as she allows her nose to guide her.

It was not quite the season of new mothers, but Roses in Bloom could feel the stirrings of the swamp needing her. Like a call from her own mother, she went where she was needed— to those who sought guidance, those who sought her wisdom. What a strange thing, that she was... a guiding figure. Someone capable of offering wisdom, offering assurances on anything. But she would carry the title with pride as best she was able.

Today, that uncertainty guided her to the zikwa. Already showing, too. Roses approached in her own skin, wearing as gentle a smile as she could.

“Well, hello there!”